


sweet like cream

by creamycat (0shadow_panther0)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Breathplay, Chastity Device, Cock Warming, Collars, Creampie, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Domestic, Domme!Byleth, F/M, Femdom, Frottage, Gratuitous Use of Honey, Light BDSM, Lingerie, Maids, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pegging, Praise Kink, Religion Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Size Difference, Sounding, Spanking, Sparring, Teasing, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0shadow_panther0/pseuds/creamycat
Summary: Byleth can get it.(Femdom-flavored Kinktober 2019 prompt fills.)





	1. Day 1: Lingerie/Orgasm Denial (Claude/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a late start but hopefully I’ll be caught up by the weekend :thumbs up emoji:

Claude looked good in white, Byleth decided, considering the sheer stockings that clung to his thighs, the lacy straps that crossed over his chest, the panties that did absolutely nothing to cover the flushed erection that peeked out over the band.

He was red in the face, avoiding her eyes as he lay back on the bed. “It’s… a little embarrassing,” he managed, running a hand along his jaw, grinning half-heartedly.

“It’s good,” she replied, toying with the lace ruffles at his hip. He shifted his legs apart as she settled herself between them, a finger tracing the line of the waistband. “_Very_ good.”

His attempt at a laugh caught in his throat as her finger tugged down the band, bunching the pristine lace around the base of his erection.

She gave his cock a few lazy pumps, coaxing a drop of precum to bead at the tip. He was getting riled more quickly than usual, she noted. For all his whining, it seemed he was rather enjoying his new attire. She sped up her pace, watching the way his pupils blew out and his lips parted, then snapped back closed as he muffled a whimper.

She stopped as quickly as she had started, fingers loose around his base, her other hand drawing absentminded patterns where the meat of his thigh met the top of the stocking.

He was trying far too hard to restrain his moans, she thought. Apparently, his outfit made him a little more self-conscious.

She liked him better when he was noisy.

She took him into her hand again, the corners of her mouth quirking as Claude’s hips twitched, and she pressed him back down into the mattress with a hand against his waist.

His hands were fisted in the sheets, the breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he arched into her touch. She circled the sweet spot just below the head of his cock with her thumb, humming thoughtfully as he grit his teeth and bit down on a groan.

His erection throbbed in her hand and Claude tensed, and she let go, smoothing her palms across his thighs as his cock bobbed onto his stomach, and he hissed out a barely audible curse.

His head fell back onto the pillow with a soft thump, and he groaned dramatically, bringing a hand up to push back the sweat-damped bangs that fell over his face. “St—stop _stopping_” he mumbled, slurred and slow.

She let her nails scrape down in stomach in lieu of a response, watching his muscles jump as she left faint marks from his ribs to his hip bones.

“I want to cum,” he whined, bucking his hips impatiently. “I even got all dressed up for you—_please_—”

“Do I have to teach you to be patient?” she asked, and the whimper that escaped him made her shiver. “Look at yourself—you’ve ruined your drawers.” She smeared the precum that dripped from his slit down his shaft, over the lace of the panties stretched over his balls.

He whined again, louder now—those were the sounds she wanted to hear, debauched and feverish and _lovely_—and squirmed, bringing his own hands down to reach for his cock.

She stopped him immediately, leaning over him to pin his wrists to the mattress.

Byleth cocked her head, mouth twisting into a smirk. “It seems,” she murmured, “that a lesson in patience is due after all.”


	2. Day 2: Size Difference/Pegging (Seteth/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or, that one seteth pegging fic i promised during undisclosed

Seteth was not the largest man she’d ever encountered. Even amongst the students, there were several that rivaled him in height and broadness—but he had a certain air of firm authority that the others lacked that seemed to make him more impressive.

Of course, that only made it all the more satisfying to have him spread out beneath her, panting for breath as she pressed an oil-slicked finger to his ass.

She shifted, the cock strapped to her harness an unwieldy weight on her front, and pressed a little deeper, coaxing an undignified squeak from Seteth’s mouth. She paused.

“Seteth?” she prompted.

He reddened. “I’m fine,” he managed. “I haven’t—” he paused, flushed from the tips of his ears to his chest. Tried again. “I haven’t done this before.”

The tilt of her mouth could only be called smug. “I have,” she said, almost reassuringly. She reached to tuck some errant strands of hair from his face. “Don’t worry,” she said, gentle, now. “I’ll take care of you.”

He nodded tentatively, and the uncharacteristic shyness sent a thrum of warmth through her chest.

Byleth added another finger, working him open until he was pliant under her hands.

“It’s—it’s a little odd,” he mumbled, experimentally rocking back against her fingers. “I don’t know if—” He cut himself off with a yelp, thighs tensing. His cock twitched against his stomach.

“Ah,” she said, crooking her fingers. “Found it.”

Seteth muffled a moan into his hand, brow furrowed as he restrained himself from bucking into her hand.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Still odd?” as she pressed up against his walls to make him gasp.

He only offered a whimper in response, chest heaving. His eyes were hazy and distant, his hair a tousled mess.

She carefully withdrew her fingers, letting out a puff of laughter as he whined with the loss.

She slathered the fake cock with oil, urging his thighs open with her clean hand.

“Relax,” she murmured. “I’ll make it good for you.”

The head of her strap on nudged his opening, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

She smoothed her hands over his thighs patiently, rubbing comforting circles over his hip with her thumb.

He swallowed thickly. “You—you can move.”

She pressed her hips forward, easing the cock into him, and Seteth let his head fall back, moaning lowly.

“Good,” she praised softly, watching as her hips pressed flush against him. “You’re taking it so well—how do you feel?”

“F-full,” he stuttered. “It’s—it’s good.”

She gave him a few slow thrusts, and he bit his lip, squirming against the sheets.

“You know,” she said, offhanded and conversational, “I think I’d like you better on top of me.”

She only gave him a moment to process that before she tugged him up, letting herself fall back against the mattress.

Seteth scrambled for purchase, straddling her hips with muscled thighs and bracing his arms against the bed. Like this, it was so much more obvious how much bigger he was—the breadth of his shoulders, the broad expanse of his chest. It thrilled her that he was so docile.

“Go on,” she coaxed, hands settling on his hips. “You can move.”

He shivered, rocking hesitantly. His cock bobbed as he straightened and then leaned back on his haunches, bracing his hands against her thighs.

He was slow and wobbly, stifling little whimpers and moans as he tried to settle on a pace.

She waited until he managed to compose himself a little more, easing himself into a gentle, steady rise and fall. When he was at the peak, the head of strap on barely in him, she snapped her hips up to meet his and Seteth cried out, nearly falling forward.

“By-_Byleth_—!” he choked out, and she thrust up again, cutting him off, gripping his hips almost hard enough to bruise. She set a punishing pace, purring as he very nearly wailed.

“Touch yourself,” she commanded. “I want you to cum all over me.”

Seteth grasped his cock with a shaky hand, precum dripping over his knuckles as he feverishly stroked himself.

“Byleth,” he gasped. “I’m close—_I_—!” He bit down on a sob, shuddering as he came, spilling himself over her stomach.

She slowed her thrusts, until she was barely rocking against him, and Seteth slumped over her, exhausted, the strapon slipping out of him with a slick, lewd noise.

He was heavy on top of her, and she coaxed him off with a wiggle. He flopped bonelessly beside her, still catching his breath.

“Good?” she asked, rolling onto her belly and propping her chin on a hand.

He laughed breathlessly. “Very.”


	3. Day 3: Maid/Butler (Sylvain/Byleth)

Perhaps, Sylvain thought, agreeing to apply for the maid exam was a mistake. He hadn’t expected the professor to take him seriously when he had offhandedly commented on how he might look good in an apron and, oh, he was looking to dust off his faith magic anyway, so why not? And when the professor tested him, he hadn’t been expecting it and just did his best (his next mistake) instead of flunking it like he should have, and then the next thing he knew Mercedes was altering one of the maid uniforms to fit his broader frame, frilly headband and garters and all.

Of course, with his abrupt change in rank, there had been an opening for the butler position he had been meant to take—and the professor had taken it upon herself to fill it.

And, surely, a suit that was so much more modest than her usual fare shouldn’t be infinitely more arousing.

“Is something the matter, Sylvain?” Byleth asked. She idly adjusted her cravat, gloved hands smoothing down the front of her vest.

He twitched, tearing his eyes away from her chest. “Totally fine, Professor,” he replied, hand on a ruffled hip.

They’d just finished routing a small bandit encampment south of the monastery—the two of them had gotten separated from the others, and were taking a breather in a small clearing. Sylvain had nearly gotten his own arm chopped off after staring at the curve of her waist for a beat too long during the battle.

Her eyes flickered down, and she made a low, thoughtful noise. “You seem... agitated.”

Agitated?

He followed her gaze down to his skirt (Goddess above, this uniform was going to _kill_ him) and—

Fuck.

He laughed nervously. “Just the… adrenaline.”

Byleth took a step forward and he nearly jumped out of his skin. She held his chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilted his head, observing him with cool eyes.

“You’re jumpier than usual,” she noted, releasing his chin and trailing a finger down his jaw to the hollow of his throat. He shivered. “More sensitive, too.”

“That’s because—” he started, then trailed off with a moan as she rose to her tiptoes to mouth at his fluttering pulse at his throat.

“Because?” she prompted, lips brushing against his heated skin. He was hyper-aware of the soft cotton of his skirts grazing against his thighs, the smooth material of her clean-pressed suit against his skin as she pressed even closer.

“Y—your uniform,” he managed. “And mine.”

“What about it?” she hummed. Her hands crept up his skirt, skimming the edge of his smallclothes, the satin of her gloves smooth against his skin. He shuddered, reflexively reaching for her hips.

“You look… good,” he forced out. He slumped down, head dropping to rest against her shoulder, groaning weakly. “And I’m embarrassed.”

“I think you look lovely,” Byleth replied, low and easy.

Sylvain whined, and she tugged him up by his hair to kiss him.

“You’ve been very docile,” she observed. “Maybe I should dress you up like this more often.”

He laughed shakily. “I might die of embarrassment.”

She glanced up at him, lips quirked in a faint smile. “Don’t worry,” she said, her hand slipping under his skirt once again. “I’d take care of you.”

She tugged his smallclothes down to his thighs and palmed his cock, and he nearly squeaked. Her gloves were cool and silky against the heated flesh, and he instinctively bucked his hips. Simply standing was a struggle, his knees going weak as she massaged his shaft.

“Don’t be too loud,” she said, then tugged the ribbon around his collar loose with her teeth. She was smiling, canines baring for just a moment. “The others might find us,” and promptly proceeded to make it very difficult to keep quiet. Byleth nipped at his throat, nosing aside the high, frilly collar to leave dark bruises with her lips and teeth. She hitched up his skirt, nudging his legs apart with a knee pressed against his crotch, and he only barely stifled the moan that bubbled up in his chest as she started to stroke him in earnest.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I’m not—_ah_—I’m not going to last long—!”

“Go ahead,” she murmured.

He came with a shudder, biting into the meat of his palm to muffle his keening cry as he spilled over her hand.

As soon as she released him, he stumbled back and slumped against a tree, not trusting his legs to hold him up.

Crisp and efficient, Byleth tugged up his smalls and straightened his skirt, adjusting his apron for good measure.

“Sorry,” he said after he caught his breath. “I ruined your glove.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, turning her hand over to look. His cum streaked the palm of the white fabric, and she pulled it off, turning it inside out before tucking it into her pocket. “You can pay me back for it tonight.” She paused, head cocked. “On your knees, perhaps.”

He nearly sputtered, and she tied the ribbon around his neck into a neat bow, fixing his collar to hide the dappled bruises that adorned his throat, and then took a step back for a final once-over.

“Keep the uniform,” she decided.

Sylvain laughed, curtsying as best he could with his wobbly legs. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain jose "oh fuck my actions have consequences" gautier


	4. Day 4: Chastity (Seteth/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i have way too much fun bullying seteth

“Are you quite alright, Seteth?” Manuela asked. “You’re looking quite flushed. If you’re coming down with a fever, I have something in the clinic—”

“I’m fine, Manuela,” he answered stiffly. “It’s simply the heat.”

The physician frowned. “If you’re sure,” she said doubtfully.

“I am.” He adjusted his posture, nearly wincing. “If that’s all, I have a meeting with the professor shortly. Pardon me.”

He bowed and Manuela waved him off, and he strode down the hall as quickly as he could while maintaining his facade of composure.

The moment the doors to his office closed behind him he faltered, leaning against his desk just to keep himself standing. He bit into his gauntlet to stifle a moan, hunching over the table.

A sharp knock at his door made him flinch. He straightened as best he could, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Enter.”

Byleth peeked in. “Cyril said you wanted to see me, Seteth?”

He winced. “I—yes. Lock the door behind you, please.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “Of course,” she acquiesced, stepping in.

The click of the lock made something in him snap, and he crossed the room to her in two long strides. He braced his hands on the door on either side of her, fingers flexing against the wood.

Her face was as impassive as ever, but there was something terribly smug about the tilt of her head. “Is something wrong, Seteth?”

His breath escaped his lungs in a rush, and his head fell forward. “It’s… excruciating,” he forced out. “I fear I’m going to go mad.”

“How vague,” Byleth commented. She took his chin into her hand and tilted his head up. “You seem fine to me. You should be more clear about what the matter is.”

“_Professor_,” he hissed out through gritted teeth, but she simply cocked her head, gazing up at him through her lashes.

“Yes?” she prompted. “Do you need something?”

He wallowed in silence for a few moments. His hands dropped, cupping her hips, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“P-please,” he managed.

“Please, what?”

He exhaled shakily. “Please remove the—” He had to stop, suddenly unable to meet her cool eyes. “...The cage,” he finished weakly.

Her lips crooked in the barest smile. “Is it truly so unbearable?”

“It—” _is_, he almost said, petulant and childish, but stopped himself. Then, more carefully, “It is beginning to interfere with my work.”

She arched a brow. “It’s only been five days,” she said. “You were confident you could handle a week.”

He had been, which was the worst part. He’d spent far longer than just a week without sexual gratification—a cage seemed redundant. He never expected to be so hyper-aware of the lack of relief.

He made a tiny, desperate sound that was pathetic even to his own ears.

She studied him, his flushed cheeks and tense shoulders, and her eyes narrowed. “Earn it,” she told him.

He blinked down at her, not understanding until she hooked her thumbs around the waistband of her shorts and tights and pulled them both down her thighs.

He dropped to his knees like she had dealt him a physical blow, the air escaping him in a shuddering breath. His hands skimmed her legs, down to the leather of her boots, and he leaned in, lapping at her folds.

Byleth made a low, approving noise, scraping her fingers across his scalp as she guided him closer. He worked his tongue into her dripping slit, muffling his own moans on her skin when her grip on his hair tightened.

“Good,” she murmured. Her breath hitched as he lapped at her clit, and he drank in her arousal, clutching at her legs like she might disappear otherwise. The metal of the cage bit into his cock, and his hands dug into the soft flesh of her thighs like a retaliation.

It didn’t take long before she came on his tongue with a soft sigh and a shudder, stroking his hair as he pulled away. He panted, hands fisted in his robes as he looked up at her.

She hummed. “Perhaps,” she said, “you’ve earned a small reward. Take off your robes.”

He staggered to his feet, fumbling with the line of buttons. The sleeves caught on his gauntlets and he nearly tore them off his haste to strip.

Byleth ran her hands over the broad plane of his chest, and he froze. Her touch was cool against his feverish skin, and she lingered over his thrum of his heart.

She leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to the hollow of his throat. She trailed her tongue down his collarbone, down his line of his sternum, and caught the bud of his nipple in her teeth.

The air rushed out of his chest through gritted teeth, and his hips jerked reflexively, rutting against thin air.

“_Byleth_,” he whined, voice so high and needy that he could barely recognize it as his own. “T-take it off, _please_—I can’t—”

She huffed a soft laugh. “I think not,” she murmured, hands ghosting over his clothed thighs. “You’ll have to wait until our agreed date.”

He choked out a sob, and she nipped a bruising mark on his chest before she pulled away. She was smiling, a crooked, self-satisfied thing that stayed for just a moment before her expression smoothed over to her usual detachment.

“Do your best,” she said, adjusting her shorts and reaching back to unlock the door, and then she slipped out of his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these are getting. increasingly long


	5. Day 5: Breeding/Drunk Sex (Dimitri/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this turned out. exTREMELY sappy and lovey dovey

“Um,” Dimitri said, leaning against the doorframe. He looked disheveled—his eyepatch was hanging from his neck, furs lopsided over his shoulders and tunic askew.

“Dimitri?” Byleth asked, standing quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Sylvain thought I should—” he paused, blinking blearily, then shook his head like a dog— “loosen up?”

He looked plenty loose, faintly flushed and hair mussed, the scarred, ragged mess of his right eye mostly hidden by the pale strands.

Byleth frowned, reaching up brush his hair off his face and press a cool palm against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut.

“You’re a little warm,” she noted.

“‘S the ale,” he grumbled, leaning into her hand. “I’m—I’m a little tipsy, I think.”

“How much did Sylvain give you?”

“Not too much,” he said, a little defensively, even as he swayed. “I simply drank it too fast. I’m fine, though.”

She patted his cheek and he huffed a soft laugh, cupping her hand in his own.

He dipped down to press a kiss to her brow. “Beloved,” he breathed, nosing her hair, “you’re so lovely.” He pulled her closer, twirling them around like a ballroom dance.

She let him lead for a moment before he stumbled over himself and she took it upon herself to guide them to their bed.

He fell onto the mattress obligingly, but pulled her down with him, immediately curling around her. He sighed happily, tangling his legs with hers and settling his arm across her chest.

She lifted a hand to stroke his hair, and he purred, arching into her.

She raised a brow. There was a prominent, hot bulge pressing against her thighs. She gave her hips an experimental roll, and Dimitri moaned, soft and low.

He rutted against her, burying his face in her hair. “M-more,” he mumbled, quiet and pleading.

Byleth twisted to kick off her shorts and Dimitri let go of her just long enough to struggle out of his clothes.

He whimpered as she pushed herself up and straddled him, bracing her hands on his chest as she ground down on him. His cock slid between her thighs, hot and slick with arousal.

“Byleth,” he groaned, hips canting up. “Please?” His hands found her hips, drifting to her thighs and flexing against her skin.

She tutted, pinning his wrists back to the bed. “Don’t bruise me,” she said, faintly amused. “I have meetings tomorrow.”

He mewled in response, squirming but not resisting. “Please,” he whined, higher now. The alcohol seemed to have loosened his tongue—he was needy and vocal in a way that normally could only be coaxed out with much more teasing.

“Patience,” she said, releasing his wrists to dip two fingers into her dripping slit, sighing as she rocked into her palm.

She worked herself open, urged on by Dimitri’s bitten off, shivering moans, and by the time she guided his cock into her, his hands were trembling with restraint, twisted into the sheets in a white-knuckled grip.

She rolled her hips, taking him to the root with a little effort, and Dimitri cried out, arching up into her. She set a rough pace, relishing in his fragile moans and whimpers as she rode him.

He let his head fall back, exposing the lone, pale line of his throat. His ruined eye fluttered open, lacking the control to keep it shut.

“I want—” he gasped, reaching up to press desperate kisses to her collar. “I want to cum inside you. I want to fill you with my seed—” He cut off with a groan, hips stuttering. “Beloved, I want to see you round with our children.”

She shivered with his intensity of his pleas, the rough rasp of his voice, all semblance of his usual restraint gone.

“I’ll milk you,” she promised, half a snarl. “You’ll fill me up and I won’t let you stop—” She could barely hear herself over Dimitri’s high keen, the rip of the sheets as he tore through them with his grip.

His hips snapped up to meet her own, and she bore down on him just as sharply, her nails leaving crescent imprints across his chest.

She moaned, pressing her hips flush to his and burying him to the hilt as she climaxed, and Dimitri choked out a cry, ragged and cracking as he followed her over the edge. His cum dripped hot and thick down her thighs, and the look of adoration he gave her was nearly enough to kick off another lurid round.

He fell back and Byleth slumped forward, tucking her head under his chin. She pressed gentle, soft kisses down his throat, fingers trailing down the lines of his scars.

“Thank you, beloved,” Dimitri rasped, wrapping his arms around her, his hands settling at the small of her back. His body was slack and loose, like every ounce of tension had been drained from him.

She hummed, warm and content, and propped herself up on his chest. The movement made his half-erect cock slip out of her and he squeaked at the stimulation. His cum trickled out her, and she shifted, pressing her thighs together.

Dimitri flushed, swallowing thickly at the reminder. “I—ah—tomorrow I’ll inform Seteth that the archbishop requires an… herbal tea.”

She paused, reaching out to cup his cheek. “Did you mean it?” she asked softly, and he blinked owlishly up at her. She hesitated. “When you said you wanted children.”

His breath escaped him in a rush, eyes going wide. “I—” He broke off, inhaling deeply. “...Yes,” he said finally, pulling her in to kiss her properly. “Yes,” he repeated against her lips, breathless and elated. “With you, yes.”


	6. Day 6: Spanking/Dacryphilia (Claude/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this chapter my love letter to sanguia? possibly

Claude stumbled back to his room, barely reining back a massive yawn as he pushed through the doors. Byleth was already there, lounging on their bed as she read a book. She glanced up at him as he approached, eyes soft.

He draped himself over her lap with a sigh, and she arched a brow at him, peering down at him over her book.

“I’m tired,” he said by way of explanation, stretching out on his belly.

“You’re heavy,” she countered, putting her book aside, but made no move to push him off or otherwise displace him.

Her hand smoothed over his ass, and he wiggled it invitingly, tilting his head back to wink at her.

She huffed and drew her hand back, and he sighed, settling back down—

She swatted him—_hard_. He yelped, reeling with the force of the blow, hands fisting in the sheets.

She rested her hand on the small of his back. “Are you going to move?” she asked.

He twitched, then forced himself to relax, releasing a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know,” he said playfully. “I’m quite comfortable where I am.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. “Really, now.”

His cheeky grin only lasted a moment more, instantly replaced with a wince as she struck him again, the pain sharp and stinging even through all his layers of clothing.

“You’re a brat,” she informed him conversationally, observing him with a tilt of her head, as if considering where to best spank him next.

“Life would be awfully boring if I wasn’t,” he replied. She rewarded his irreverence with another slap, and he grit his teeth to bear it, kneading at the mattress.

The fourth blow had him whimpering, and she paused only for a moment before she pulled his trousers and smallclothes to his knees and struck his bare skin. Had he any more presence of mind, he might have been embarrassed by the sound he made.

Her legs shifted beneath him, pressing against his crotch, and he muffled a low moan, trying not to grind against her.

She sighed. “You’re not supposed to get hard from punishment,” she said, applying a little more pressure to his cock.

He laughed, shaky and unsteady, and resisted the urge to rut against her. “You must not be doing a very good job, then.”

Another two strikes, another broken whine. His skin felt hot and tender, and he hissed through his teeth as she ran her hand over his backside, pressing into the throbbing flesh.

“Maybe I should make you count,” she mused, half to herself. “See how many you can take before you start to cry.”

Claude let his head drop, lest she saw the unspilled tears in the corners of his eyes. “Interesting proposition.”

He wasn’t prepared for the next blow and barely managed to bite back a sob.

“How many was that? Eight? Nine?” Byleth asked.

“E-eight,” he gasped.

She hummed thoughtfully. “How many more do you deserve?” she asked. “Shall we make it an even ten?”

He bit his tongue instead of answering, arching back into her hand. The touch made him ache, and he shivered.

She laughed softly. “Two more it is, then,” she decided.

“Better make them count,” he rasped out.

She pressed her other hand between his shoulder blades, forcing him down, and pushed up with her knee to coax his hips up. His restraint cracked and he bucked his hips, rutting his cock against her thighs.

Byleth tutted and pressed harder, trapping his cock between her knee and his stomach until the pressure was just shy of pain. “Don’t misbehave,” she warned. He could practically hear her smirk. “I’ll just spank you more.”

“Hardly a punishment at this point,” he quipped, voice cracking despite his easy tone.

“We’ll see,” she said, drawing her hand back.

She had been holding back, earlier. She wasn’t now. If she hadn’t been bracing him, he might have been sent reeling over. His fingers clawed at the sheets, forgetting to breathe for a moment.

He had only just sucked in a deep breath when she delivered the tenth strike, the pain blooming hot and jagged against his skin.

The sound he made could only be described as a wail, high and drawn-out and desperate. He felt Byleth shudder, her thighs pressing together as she watched him sob.

“Lovely,” she breathed, fingers trailing over his reddened skin and digging into the tender skin behind his balls.

He whined, reedy and pathetic, and she took pity on him, taking his cock in her hand and pumping him roughly.

“Go on,” she murmured, her free hand gripping his hair and tugging his head back, exposing his throat. “Come for me, little deer—”

He came with a ragged cry, spilling himself over her thighs. She worked him through it, stroking until he was writhing and whimpering, trembling like a newborn fawn.

He slumped forward as soon as she released him, limp and boneless. The grip in his hair turned into soothing caresses, gently running her fingers through his hair.

He shifted, but gave up on the motion immediately, groaning with the ache.

“How bad is it?” he managed, pillowing his head in his arms.

She ran her hand down the backs of his thighs with a thoughtful hum. “You’ll feel it tomorrow,” she said.

“I have a meeting tomorrow, you know,” he groused without heat. “With _Lorenz_.”

“You should have moved,” she replied. She massaged the flushed skin, and he released a sharp breath, squirming in her lap.

He muffled a low moan into his arms. “You could have gone easy on me.”

She let out a puff of laughter. “It would be awfully boring if I did, wouldn’t it?” she riposted, throwing his words back at him.

He chuckled, relaxing under her ministrations. “Perhaps you’re right.”


	7. Day 7: Overstimulation (Felix/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i ALMOST got caught up and then i got distracted. so close

It always took a bit of effort to make Felix break.

He was stubborn like that—not quite a brat, although he had his moments, but it was more his refusal to let himself go than anything else, like he thought giving in was a weakness.

It was a little infuriating, at times, the way he bit back his moans and grit his teeth even when he was on the precipice—like he was now.

Byleth lapped as his cock, a pillow under her knees as she kneeled, and he braced himself against the wall of their quarters. His breath was ragged, but he swallowed back any other noises, hands fisted until his knuckles were white with the pressure.

She dragged out a low groan from him as she swallowed him to the root, letting her teeth skim across the head. She looked up at him, bobbing her head slowly as his eyes fell to half-mast, biting his lip to stave off any more sounds.

She pulled back, kissing the tip as she brought her hands up to stroke the length of his shaft, and he released a long, shuddering breath, the muscles of his stomach bunching under his skin. With a faint, crooked smile, she circled the tender spot under the head, pressing against his slit with her tongue.

“Byleth—” he started, before he was interrupted by her taking his cock deep into her throat, hollowing her cheeks and swallowing around him. He came with a hiss, hips jerking as he spilled into her mouth, hot and bitter.

She withdrew, letting his seed drip out of her mouth onto his cock, and kept stroking. Felix twitched, exhaling sharply as her saliva and his own cum slicked his shaft, making a mess of her hands, his every muscle tense.

“Byleth,” he said, half a warning, then cut off with a flinching groan, shivering as she pumped his still-erect cock.

“Yes?” she said, twisting her hand.

He flexed his hands against the wall instead of answering, teeth gritted. Sweat dripped down his brow, eyes narrowing at her. His facade of irritation faded quickly as she put her mouth on him again, suckling at the tip of his cock like she might coax another climax from him.

He muffled a moan against his forearm, jaw tensed, and she took him deeper, the musky, bitter taste of his cum heavy in her mouth. The air rushed out of his lungs, and he made a high, weak noise as she continued.

“Plea—” he began, then stopped himself as abruptly as he started.

Close, but not quite, she thought, quickening her pace, and he couldn’t muffle the keening whine that escaped him.

Sensing victory, she dug her fingers into the insides of his thighs, scraping down the thick muscle and leaving reddened trails in their wake, and it was like opening the floodgates. Felix’s voice cracked as he cried out, composure shattered and legs trembling.

“By—_Byleth_,” he choked out, and her name never sounded sweeter.

She hummed around him and he twitched, a hand reaching for her hair before he faltered and changed his course, gripping her shoulder, but not pushing her away.

He was whimpering now, little, pained, half-stifled things as she worked his aching cock, fully trembling under her hands.

“Please,” Felix gasped.

“‘Please,’ what?” she pressed, she said, pulling off his cock with a slick, lewd sound, stroking him slow and deliberate.

“‘S too much,” he slurred, thoroughly broken, “_please_—!”

Byleth bared her teeth in a faint smile. “Good,” she purred, releasing his cock.

He collapsed onto the floor as soon as she let go, falling to his knees in a shivering, overstimulated heap.

She wiped her hands on a washcloth before settling next to him, running her fingers through the sweat-soaked strands of his hair.

He leaned against her, wincing at the cold stone beneath his legs.

“Can you get up?” she asked gently. “You should lay on the bed.”

She received a muffled, indecipherable grumble, and she laughed softly.

He was easy to pick up and carry, pliant and docile in her arms, and she gingerly set him on their bed.

He tugged, wordless but insistent, on her wrist, and she followed him down obligingly, stretching out beside him on the mattress.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, exhausted, and she pressed a kiss to his brow as his eyes fluttered shut.


	8. Day 8: Frottage/Sensory Deprivation (Claude/Byleth)

Byleth was tying Claude to a chair. The blindfold was a nice touch, he thought. He was hyper-aware of the faint rasp of the rope against his bare skin, naked from the waist up, the stir of the air as Byleth moved around him to bind his other arm.

“Good?” she asked, and he gave the ties an experimental tug.

“Solid ropework,” he said, mock-serious. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”

She let out a tiny puff of laughter, cupping his cheek with a warm hand before she took a step back. The rustle of clothes told him she was disrobing.

She straddled him, hooking her arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss, the cotton on her shirt soft against his chest. She’d only shed her coat and boots, then, he realized, recognizing the prickle of her tights against his sides with a flash of disappointment, before he was thoroughly distracted by her mouth on his.

She didn’t so much as pull away from the kiss as redirect it, trailing her lips down his jaw and sucking a bruise at the fluttering pulse at his throat. Claude shuddered, moaning lowly as she played with the bud of his nipple, pinching and twisting until it ached.

Byleth shifted back a little, palming his cock through his trousers, and his hips jerked up, hands flexing against the armrests.

“If you want—_hah_—you could take off my pants,” he said, his breath heavy. “They’re a little uncomfortable—” He cut off with a groan as she stroked him in earnest, the friction of the fabric rough and tight against his cock. “Please?”

She let out a thoughtful noise and slowed her pace, and he twitched in anticipation, muscles bunching under his skin.

He choked out a confused sound when she pulled her hand away, replacing it with the slow, deliberate drag of her hips.

“Like this is enough, isn’t it?” she asked. He didn’t need to see her to recognize the smug lilt of her smirk, and he whined.

He strained against his bindings, his head falling back as she nipped down the column of his throat and sank her teeth into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Claude moaned, weak and tremulous, and she increased the pressure until he thought she might draw blood with it. His hips jerked up, rutting mindlessly against her shorts. His cock was straining against his trousers, almost painfully restricted.

She ground down on him, exhaling softly as he rubbed against her crotch, and lapped apologetically at the deep marks her teeth had left.

He felt like a desperate teenager again, frantic and overeager, and Byleth let out an indulgent puff of laughter as he made a high, plaintive sound.

Without his sight, he felt strung-out and hypersensitive, furthered even by the ties that held him in place. His pulse was thunderously loud in his ears, and he was dizzy with her scent.

“More,” he panted, bucking his hips. “Please? I’m close—!”

She hummed, her breath whispering across his cheek as she drew him closer, and rolled her hips against his just as intensely as if he were inside her.

He squirmed, arching his back to meet her, his cock aching with the pressure.

She tugged him in for a kiss by his hair, biting down on his bottom lip. He moaned into her mouth, shivering all the while.

Byleth brought her hands up, raking her nails across his chest before she caught his nipple between her fingers and squeezed until he trembled.

“Hah—_Byleth_—!” he gasped, and broke off in a load, shuddering moan as he came, clutching at the armrests in a white-knuckled grip.

His body went slack, catching his breath as he lolled back in the chair.

Byleth pressed a warm, gentle kiss to the line of his jaw, reaching to deftly untie his wrists and pull the blindfold free. His arms fell limply at his sides, and he mustered the last dregs of his energy to pull her flush, resting his hands at the small of her back and settling his chin on her shoulder.

She laughed softly, cheek-to-cheek with him, and draped her arms across his shoulders as she rested comfortably in his lap—

He winced.

“I—” he started, then paused. He huffed. “I need to change my clothes.”

She snickered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those who leave comments and kudos! i know it's hard to find something to say about smut, and i really appreciate you taking the time to write something ^_^


	9. Day 9: Sounding (Sylvain/Byleth)

“Hold still,” Byleth told him.

Sylvain sighed, head falling back against the chair. “Can’t really go anywhere,” he said. His legs were tied down, presumably to stop him from accidentally kicking her as she kneeled in front of him.

She hummed, slowly working him up with a slick hand. He groaned, the oil cool against his heated skin.

Byleth picked up the slender metal rod, twirling it between her fingers. His eyes followed the movement, and he twitched.

“Ready?” she asked, dragging the rounded end against the tip of his cock.

He grinned down at her. “As I’ll ever be.”

She huffed and held the base of his cock with one hand, pressing the tip of the rod into his slit.

Sylvain sucked in a sharp breath, hands flexing against the armrests.

“Okay?” she prompted, rubbing slow circles on the underside of his cock with her thumb.

“It’s—it’s odd,” he managed, biting the inside of his cheek. “It doesn’t hurt,” he added hurriedly, “it’s just—” He broke off, the sound dipping just a little further, and he swallowed thickly. “...Odd,” he finished.

She made a low noise of acknowledgement, focusing on his cock intently as she slowly slid the rod another inch in.

He moaned as she pumped him with a loose grip, less pressure and more light friction across his shaft, and he had to resist the urge to buck into her. She rested her forearms across his thighs to hold him down, pressing deeper.

He wasn’t so much looking at what she was doing to his cock as he was at her, her barely-furrowed brow and steady hands, the fascinated gleam in her eyes as she dribbled another line of oil down the rod—

“_Fuck_—!” he choked out past a sudden moan, throwing his head back. Sparks flew up his spine, heat pooling in his belly. “I—what—?”

“Found it,” Byleth said, the barest note of smugness lilting her voice. She let go of the rod—Goddess, it was all the way in, the bulbous end poking out of his slit like some debauched decoration—and caressed his cock more firmly.

He cursed again, panting out another shuddering whine as the sound kept pressing against whatever was making him weak and shivery, feverish heat blooming in his stomach.

“More?” she asked, dipping her head down to nip at the inside of his thighs,

“_Please_,” he gasped. “It’s—_ah_—!” His legs jerked against his bindings, and he gripped his own hair tightly, not knowing what to do with his hands.

She pumped him rougher and he cried out, the pressure building in his cock.

“Cum, Sylvain,” she murmured, low and husky. “Go on, cum—”

He climaxed with a wail, high and desperate and barely sounding like himself, the sound bobbing against the walls of the inside of cock. Cum dripped around the rod, streaming over her knuckles.

He whimpered as she gently worked it free, falling limp in the chair.

Byleth reached up to brush his sweat-slicked hair from his face, leaning in for a kiss.

“How do you feel?” she asked, cupping his jaw.

“Like you sucked the soul out of me,” he mumbled, their breaths mingling together.

She laughed softly, undoing the rope around his ankles. There were reddened marks on his skin from how hard he’d been straining against them, and she rubbed them comfortingly.

“Do you think you can make it to the bed?” she said, visibly amused.

He huffed, wincing as he leaned forward, bracing his arms against the chair. “Give me a minute.”


	10. Day 10: Bloodplay (Jeritza/Byleth)

Practicing with real blades was dangerous. Byleth was fully aware of this, but she still accepted Jeritza’s invitation to duel.

She didn’t use the Sword of the Creator, of course, but a simple iron longsword to mirror his. They circled each other, boots scuffing against the dirt of the training grounds.

Jeritza struck first, blade whipping through the air like a live thing, and she backstepped. He chased after her, his approach relentless and determined, and she deflected another blow, skipping back.

His pale eyes narrowed behind his mask, mouth twisting. “Stop running,” he snarled, “and face me.”

Byleth cocked her head, ducking under the wide arc of his sword, and tackled him to the ground. Their blades clattered to the ground, and Jeritza hit the dirt with a heavy grunt.

She straddled his waist, and he grabbed her thighs and bucked up against her to throw her off. She shoved him down, unsheathing the dagger at her belt and bringing it to the hollow of his throat. The tip pressed against his pale skin, and he swallowed thickly, the bob of his throat drawing a drop of blood against the blade.

“First blood,” she murmured. “I win.”

There was a faint flush across his face, his ears a warm pink.

An idea formed in the back of her mind, and she shifted, grinding down against his hips. A low moan escaped him through gritted teeth.

She dragged the blade down, tracing a red line down to his collar, and sliced through the fabric with a flick of her wrist from collar to ribs.

Jeritza growled at her but made no move to resist, pupils blown wide and cock straining against his trousers. She pulled his tunic open, baring his chest, old, silvery scars criss-crossing over his skin.

She trailed the point of her dagger down his sternum, just enough to break the skin, beads of blood welling up against his pale skin. She dipped her head down to lap up the crimson line, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Her next cut was just the barest hint deeper, slow and deliberate just below his collarbone, but it was enough to make him groan. She worked it over with long strokes of her tongue, blood hot and salty across her lips, and she reached up to kiss him, harsh and bruising. He responded just as intensely, his fingers finding purchase in her hair.

When she pulled away to breathe, his mouth was smeared with crimson, eyes hazy and entranced.

Another pass of her dagger drew a line diagonally across his chest, and she turned the blade the press the flat of it against his nipple, the steel cold against his heated flesh. He hissed, arching his back, and she raked the fingers of her free hand across his chest, nails catching in the cuts and leaving red streaks in their wake.

His breath quickened, mouth twisted in pain and arousal, and she brought her hand to his lips. He opened his mouth obediently, and she slipped her fingers in, watching him clean his own blood off her skin with his tongue.

“Good,” Byleth murmured, and he couldn’t hide how his breath hitched. She withdrew her fingers slowly, dragging over his jaw and down his throat, smearing blood and saliva across his skin.

She rocked against his erection, coaxing a low moan from him, and lifted her hips just enough so she could shove up the remains of his tunic, dropping her dagger to undo the ties of his breeches.

Jeritza fumbled for her shorts, uncharacteristically uncoordinated, and he yanked them down her thighs, immediately circling her clit with a jerky hand. She was wet already, arousal coating his fingers, and she reached back to guide his cock into her dripping slit.

He slid into her inch by inch, and she braced herself on his chest, sighing blissfully as she took him to the root. He shuddered, hands flexing against her hips.

She rolled her hips against him slowly, rising up until the tip of his cock was barely in her before dropping flush with him, deliciously full. He bucked up to meet her, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Her palms smoothed over his chest, daubing scarlet handprints over the muscle like a debauched painting. He flinched at the sting, cock throbbing as he exhaled shakily.

His little, desperate noises urged her on, and she increased the tempo until she was riding him, rough and overeager. Heat coiled in her belly, smooth and languid, and she chased the sensation, every muscle taut.

Neither of them lasted long—Byleth came with a soft, breathy whine, and Jeritza followed her over the edge with a rasping moan, gripping her thighs until she was bruising with it.

She slumped forward, tucking her head under his chin as she caught her breath. His chest was warm, blood smearing across her cheek.

He brought a hand up, carding it through her hair with unusual tenderness.

“We should get up,” he said, voice flat despite his gentle touch.

She hummed, tracing idle patterns along his jaw. “Perhaps we should.”

Still, she made no move to get up, and he made no move to displace her—

At least until the sound of the gates opening sent them both scrambling to hide behind the pillars like a pair of irresponsible teenagers.


	11. Day 11: Bondage/BDSM/Aphrodisiacs (Claude/Byleth)

Byleth raised a brow when he stumbled into her room, flushed red and twitchy.

“Ah,” Claude said, hyper-aware of the sweat collecting at the small of his back. “It seems that I’ve made a… miscalculation.” He cleared his throat. “I was testing a… concoction and its effects were a little more potent than I was expecting.”

“You poisoned yourself,” Byleth said flatly, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

He winced. “Not exactly.”

Her brow furrowed, and she reached up to cup his cheek with a calloused hand. He released a shuddering breath and leaned into her, her touch cool against his flushed skin.

“Ah,” she said. “I understand now.”

He reddened even more and laughed. “So as you can see, I’m in a bit of a tight spot and I would appreciate some… assistance.”

She was smiling, a faint, crooked thing, trailing her fingers down his jaw and across his throat. “My ‘assistance’ comes with conditions,” she said, voice low.

“I can handle it,” he replied, his own smile strained. His cock strained against his breeches, hot and tight.

“Perhaps,” she hummed. “Strip. Then hands behind your back.”

He scrambled to obey, watching her with wide eyes as she retrieved a length of scarlet rope from her drawers. His cock was already leaking, a pearl of precum dripping down his shaft as he shifted.

“Good,” she said, low and soft, and his skin prickled. She circled him slowly, fingers ghosting over his shoulders. “_Good_.”

A high whine escaped him, the barest touch sending sparks arcing down his spine.

She shushed him, tugging his wrists behind him. The rasp of the rope sent shivers across his skin, crimson silk twisted into a smooth plait. She started just under his shoulders, wrapping the length down his arms until she bound his wrists together. By then he was squirming, bitten off whimpers forcing their way through his throat.

She swatted his rear and he yelped, cock throbbing.

“Hold still,” she said, voice edged with a chill.

Claude froze, tense enough to snap, and she looped the rope across his chest, wrapping it around his pectorals, then down his stomach. It was cinched tight across his hips, each end coiled around his thighs, framing his ass with the scarlet braid.

She tied off the rope back neatly around his wrists, and he trembled, barely daring to breathe. His head was hazy and fuzzy, precum dripping from his slit like he’d already came.

She tugged his head back by his hair, baring his neck, and there was no helping the high, pathetic sound that escaped him.

“Needy,” she murmured, amused, nipping down the column of his throat. Her teeth caught on his collarbone, and she sucked a dark, bruising mark onto his skin.

She tweaked his nipple with her free hand and the noise he made was only barely not a squeak, his chest heaving as she rolled the bud between her fingers, twisting it until the pleasure was edged with pain.

He panted for breath when she released it, trailing her hand down to the dark hair below his navel. His hips jerked, biting back another whine as she redirected, reaching to grope his ass.

“I said ‘hold still,’” she said, fingers digging bruisingly deep into his flesh. Her nails raked across his skin and he nearly collapsed, heat blooming sharp and potent in his belly.

“I’m sorry—!” he gasped. “Please, please touch me—!”

“I am,” she replied, terribly, wonderfully smug, scratching reddened lines down his thighs.

He was fully shaking, arms flexing against the rope as she dragged her fingers feather-light to his front, barely brushing against his cock. The ghosting touch alone was enough to coax out a loud moan from him, hypersensitive and desperate.

A sob tore its way past his throat, and Byleth paused, bringing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, sucking in a shuddering breath.

“Claude?” she asked, gentle and calm.

“I’m—I’m fine,” he rasped. “I just—_please_—!”

She was still for a moment and he nearly started to squirm anew, burning up from the inside.

When she finally stroked his cock, the sensation was so intense that he _wailed_, loud and keening. Her hand worked him steadily, slick from his precum, and he leaned against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“Go on,” she murmured. “Good boy, go ahead—”

He came with cracked, jagged cry, his climax crashing through him like a wave, and his legs gave out beneath him. Byleth caught him, easing him to the floor, and he fell limp in her arms like a ragdoll.

She huffed out a soft laugh, fond and amused, carding her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.

She paused.

“You’re still hard,” she said thoughtfully.

He whimpered.


	12. Day 12: Religion/Foodplay (Seteth/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longer one to make up for me missing a day OTL,  
one day i'll catch up,,,,, one day

It started with tea, as most things did with Byleth.

She had entered his office late in the evening with a tray balanced on one hand, and Seteth had accepted the offer with good grace, shuffling aside his paperwork to make way for the pot.

The click of the lock did not go unnoticed.

It was sweeter than their usual fare, he noted—normally Byleth went out of her way to procure more bitter teas for their time together, and he had commented as such, and the corner of her mouth tugged up in the faintest smile.

“I thought a change of pace would be nice,” she replied easily.

“I suppose,” he said thoughtfully.

She hummed, turning her attention to her cup as she scooped a spoonful of honey, drizzling it into her tea. The glint of gold caught his eye, and he watched as the honey dripped like an amber thread.

She twirled it neatly to catch the remains, then brought it to her mouth and licked the spoon clean with slow drags of her tongue.

His breath hitched.

She noticed, with the quirk of her lips was anything to go by, and he tensed, making an attempt to compose himself.

“Care for some?” she asked, amusement lilting her voice.

He took a breath. “Just a spoonful, please.”

She hummed, spooning another serving of honey from the jar, and he pushed his cup towards her.

There was a glint in her eyes that took him a beat too long to recognize. She brought the spoon to her lips and reached for his collar, tugging him in for a kiss. Her mouth was hot and sweet and his lips parted before he could even think of stopping himself, drinking in the honeyed taste of her.

When they parted he was already breathless and dizzy, and Byleth laughed softly at his dazed expression, stepping back to shed her coat and shirt.

“Byleth,” he managed, voice thick and rough, his face warm as she bent over to take off her boots.

She glanced up at him, stripping off her shorts and tights. “Yes?”

He couldn’t manage any more words, staring at her with an ache in his chest that he could only describe as hunger.

“Oh?” she murmured. “Would the good saint care for an offering?”

With another dip into the jar, she dragged the spoon along her collarbone, the golden syrup dripping down her breast.

His mouth went dry. “I—” he rasped. His eyes were drawn to the bud of her nipple, gleaming with honey.

She leaned back, draping herself across his desk. “Well?”

His hands found their place at her waist, gentle like she might shatter in his grasp, and dipped his head to lick the golden trail from her skin. The honey was thick and sweet on his tongue, and he took her nipple into his mouth, suckling greedily.

Byleth hummed, warm and content, carding her fingers through his hair. She traced a sweet, wavy pattern from her sternum to down to her belly, and he lapped at it like a dog, falling to his knees like a mockery of a prayer.

The honey dripped lower and he followed the trail with his tongue, guided by her firm hand against his head, until his mouth was pressed to the slick gash of her slit.

“Good,” she breathed, grip tightening on his hair, and he moaned into her, hands seeking out the curve of her hip.

He licked a broad stripe over her slit, urging her legs apart to better bury his face between her thighs, and she hummed appreciatively, hitching a knee over his shoulder. Her breath caught as he worked his tongue into her, coaxing a low, soft moan from her lips, and her head fell back, chest heaving.

“Enjoying your offering?” she asked, her voice husky.

His hips twitched, cock straining against his trousers. He shivered.

“This seems more like a favor to _you_,” he managed, though his voice lacked bite.

She laughed, using her foot to press against his crotch, and he choked back a whimper.

“Really?” she said. “It seems your enjoying this quite a bit.”

He bit his tongue with a low groan, resting his head on the inside of her thigh.

She tugged him back up, spreading her legs more comfortably. “Just a bit more,” she coaxed, her voice dropping.

He swallowed thickly and leaned forward, lapping at her folds and circling her clit with his tongue. She reclined back on his desk, petting his hair as he edged her closer to her peak.

Her breath quickened, soft, little noises escaping her mouth. “Good,” she gasped. “Ah—_Cichol_—!”

She came on his name with a shudder, her grip on his hair tightening until he winced.

Byleth sighed, muscles loosening until she was sprawled back, barely missing the teacups, legs dangling over the edge of his desk.

He carefully slipped her leg off his shoulder, rising to lean over her and brace his arms on either side of her.

The corners of her mouth quirked up, and she pulled him in for a kiss, drinking in the taste of honey and her own arousal from his mouth.

Seteth moaned into the kiss as her hands busied themselves with undoing the buttons of his robes, pushing them aside to expose his broad chest. He moved a hand to fumble with his belt, breaking the kiss for the briefest moment to shove his trousers down his thighs.

“Cichol,” she purred, and he trembled, another moan rising in his throat as he rubbed the head of his cock against her slick entrance. He eased into her, her cunt hot and slick around his shaft.

She hooked her ankle behind his back, drawing him flush against her. He whimpered as he buried himself to the base, Byleth arching her back to take him deeper.

“Go on,” she murmured. “Pay tribute to the goddess.”

“_Byleth_,” he said, strangled, thrusting into her with short, jerky movements.

She hummed, reaching to scoop a dollop of honey from the jar with her fingers, and brought her hand to his mouth. His lips parted obediently, and she pressed the digits against his tongue.

“By—_Byleth_,” he whined around her fingers, saliva dripping down his jaw as she thrust them deeper into his throat.

His hips stuttered, and he moaned, cock throbbing, and he came with the taste of honey on his tongue, sweet and dizzying.

He nearly collapsed on top of her, barely catching himself on his forearms before he crushed her with his weight.

She slowly withdrew her hand from his lips, smoothing her palm across his jaw.

He let his head drop to rest against his shoulder, mouthing a wordless prayer against her skin. Byleth stroked his hair, running her fingers through the dark strands.

She paused. “Our tea is cold,” she said contemplatively, and he huffed.


	13. Praise Kink/Leash/Collar/Thigh Fucking (Dimitri/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AARGH I KEEP MISSING DAYS,,, sowwy

The leather of the collar was smooth and soft, the metal of the buckle cold against his skin, and Byleth gave it an experimental tug, judging its tightness around his neck.

“Lovely,” she said, warm and saccharine, and Dimitri shivered.

“Beloved,” he breathed. He was kneeling at the foot of their bed, naked and trembling, Byleth seated on the edge of their bed in a similar state of undress and looking down on him.

She hummed, leaning forward to hook a braid of leather to his collar, and his hands twitched, fisted in his lap.

She cupped his cheek and he leaned into it, inhaling deeply. “_Lovely_,” she murmured again, fully focused on his face. He flushed, ducking his head to press a kiss against her palm.

She laughed, tugging on his leash. He rose obediently, and she smiled as she guided him up.

“Good boy,” she said softly, brushing his hair away from his face with a gentle hand. “My beautiful husband.”

His breath hitched, and she pressed a kiss to his pliant mouth, carding her fingers through his hair.

She eased back until she was lying on the sheets, Dimitri bracing his arms on either side of her, one knee against the bed. They kissed until he was dizzy with it, and she urged him back with a light tug on his hair, then a hand on his chest until he was almost upright, leaning against the edge of the bed.

She lifted her legs, resting the back of her calves against his broad shoulder, and guided his cock between her thighs. Her was skin damp with sweat and arousal, slick and musky. She pressed her legs together, the head of his cock slid across her slit, catching on her clit.

“Like this,” she said, arching her back so his cock dragged against her cunt, smearing arousal across his shaft.

He bit back a shuddering moan, rolling his hips against her.

She mewled contentedly, head lolling back as he thrusted between her thighs. “Good,” she sighed, the leash slack in her hand. “You’re doing so well for me.”

He whimpered, cock throbbing at her praise. “Beloved,” he managed, hips snapping up against her legs.

Byleth hummed, bringing her free hand down to massage the head of his cock, smearing precum over his shaft. She rubbed her thumb over his slit and his tempo stuttered, breath hissing through his teeth.

“I want to hear you,” she told him, squeezing her thighs tighter. “I want to hear your lovely voice—”

He moaned, a weak, shuddering thing, turning his head to mouth a kiss against her calves, hot and worshipful. His cock was covered in slick, hers and his own, the friction between them effortless.

“Louder,” she coaxed, twisting the lead in her hand. He whined, shaky and keening, his hands finding purchase around her hips. His pace turned erratic, bucking into the wet friction of her thighs.

“Byleth,” he forced out, and she breathed out an answering moan, his name soft on her lips. A curl of her hand increased the pressure around his throat, not enough to choke him, but enough to make him feel like he was hers, and he came with a strangled cry, spilling on her stomach.

“_Dimitri_,” she gasped, half a plea, half a demand. He dropped to his knees, burying his face between her thighs to lap at her dripping folds.

Her hand twisted in his hair, the other pulling at his leash, and her legs clenched around his head. Like this, even without his taste, the scent of her filled his senses until he felt like he was drowning in it.

Byleth came with a sharp breath, her grip on his hair tightening until he winced, and he drank in her slick greedily.

“Perfect,” she sighed, falling limp. Her hold melted into gentle petting, humming happily.

He swiped his tongue over his lips, cleaning the last remnants of her arousal from his mouth.

She laughed softly, gently tugging at the leash to lead him up. “Clean this, too.” Slowly, deliberately, she dragged a finger through the puddle of cum on her belly and offered it to him.

He took her finger into his mouth obediently, lapping at her skin, then ducked his head to clean the rest from her belly with long strokes of his tongue.

“Dimitri,” she said, like a prayer. “_Dimitri_. My perfect, lovely husband.”

He shivered, breathing in her warmth. “_Yours_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can only write fluffy dimitri,, gotta try my hand at feral dimitri one of these days


	14. Day 14: Breathplay/Predator/Prey (Claude/Byleth)

Claude appreciated excitement, the thrum of his pulse, the quickening of his breath—the thrill of the  _ chase _ was one such pleasure. 

He shot over the forest floor like a bounding deer, lungs burning, hyper-alert and drenched in sweat, even stripped down to a loose shirt and trousers. It was a game he and Byleth liked to play, when the daily matters of palace life grew too dull to bear and the two of them itched for the adrenalin that war had accustomed them to.

A weight barreled into his side and he flew off his feet, hitting the dirt with a yelp.

“Found you,” Byleth snarled, a hand in his hair forcing his head into the dirt, her knee digging into the small of his back.

He bared his teeth, bracing his hands on the ground in an attempt to buck her off, but she increased the pressure on his back and he collapsed with a grunt.

She wrenched his head back, her other hand yanking at the collar of his shirt, and she sank her teeth into his shoulder until she drew blood.

Claude cried out, fingers clawing at the ground, back arching desperately. Pain bloomed, hot and throbbing, and it sent sparks arcing down his spine to pool low in his belly.

She loosened her jaw, slowly, so he could feel each dull ache, and ran her tongue along the marks her teeth left, smearing hot blood across his skin.

He went limp under her grip, trembling and breathless.

“Done already, little deer?” Byleth asked, hot breath ghosting over the back of his neck. “I might eat you up, you know.”

He whined pitifully, and she huffed, amused.

She pushed him over, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists above his head, and he could see his blood smeared over her mouth, the crimson stark against her pale skin.

She pressed his wrists into the ground until they ached. “Stay,” she ordered, cold, and he nodded, inhaling sharply.

She let go, sliding down his body until she was settled between his legs, yanking down his pants—he heard them tear as she exposed him from waist to knee. His trousers hung in strips from his calves, kept in place more from where they were tucked into his boots than anything else.

She forced his legs apart, pulling his hips up until he squeaked, and ducked her head to nip at the tender flesh of the insides of his thighs. She bit dark, bruising marks into his skin, unheeding of his squirming and whimpering.

“_Byleth_—!” he gasped as her teeth scraped dangerously close to his cock.

She hummed, biting down on tender skin of the crook of his thigh. His back arched, hands flexing against nothing, and he let out a strangled moan, legs shaking.

“Shush,” she told him, even though he _knew_ she loved it when he was noisy, and bit harder like a chastisement.

He couldn’t stop the high, pathetic noises that escaped him, keening whimpers and trembling wails that made Byleth’s pupils blow wide.

He whined frantically, bucking his hips, and her eyes narrowed. She let his legs go, leaning over him, and her hand circled his neck, weightless. He froze. She paused, gaze searching.

He swallowed thickly. His head fell back, baring his throat. _“Please.”_

Her breath hitched, and her fingers twitched. She _squeezed_. “Quiet,” she growled.

The sound he made was little more than a thin, reedy wheeze. His hands stayed above his head, obedient as her hand bore down on his throat.

She straddled him again, wrenching aside the crotch of her shorts and circling her slit with her free hand. She was dripping, drenching her own fingers with her arousal as she scissored two digits deep into her cunt and rolled her hips against his throbbing cock.

Claude was lightheaded, barely able to take in any air at all, much less enough to beg her—but he tried anyway, mouthing her name with a ragged gasp.

She sank down onto his cock with a hiss, taking him to the root in a single smooth motion. His hips jerked involuntarily, and she forced him back down with her own weight.

“Close, aren’t you?” she murmured. She loosened her grip on his throat just long enough for him to gulp down a full lungful of air before the pressure was back, heavy and hot.

A quirk of her lips was the only warning he got before she started to move, her pace rough and punishing. He couldn’t breathe, dizzy and faint and _desperate_, and he felt so weak that he couldn’t even bring himself to snap his hips up to meet hers.

Byleth didn’t seem to mind, riding him hard enough that his hips ached with the force of it, one hand braced against his throat and the other rubbing quick, tight circles against her clit. Her orgasm was quiet, shuddering over her like a wave. She tensed, and her hold around his neck tightened—

He tipped over the edge with an inaudible wail. His spin went taut, every inch of him trembling as his climax coursed through him, white-hot and almost agonizing.

Byleth’s hips stuttered to a stop, and he only noticed he could breathe again when she cupped his cheek with a gentle hand.

“You okay?” she asked, flushed with the afterglow. A small, fond smile curled at the corners of her mouth.

“...Fine,” he managed to croak, hoarse and rattling, and let his head fall back with a gusty wheeze. “Better than fine. I think I died and saw the Goddess for moment.”

She huffed, slowly easing off of him, and the whimper than escaped him was entirely against his will.

A quick sweep of her hand through her hair and an adjustment to her clothes, and she was entirely presentable. “We should head back to the castle before someone calls a search party,” she said.

He groaned. “Let them,” he rasped out. “Look at me. I’ll have to sneak into the castle after dark in this state.”

“Cheeky,” she replied, and settled back down next to him, stroking his hair. “We’ll rest a little, them. If anyone catches you like this, it’ll be your own fault.”

He snorted, but leaned into her palm. “Of course.”


	15. Day 15: Cockwarming/Nipple Play/Masturbation (Seteth/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its midterm season time to write smut to cope

“Hard at work?” Byleth asked, stepping into Seteth’s office. “It’s getting rather late.” The man in question looked up tiredly, eyes widening as the lock clicked behind her. 

Seteth cleared his throat, suddenly finding his desk very interesting. “I’m simply… finishing up some documents,” he said, shuffling a stack of papers together. “I’m almost done.”

She hummed, picking her way towards him as he pushed his chair back. She put a hand on his chest as he tried to rise, firmly pushing him down.

He fell back obligingly, making a curious noise, and his pupils blew wide as she undid the buttons of his robes, tugging it open. 

“Trousers,” she ordered, and his hands fumbled for his belt, lifting his hips just long enough to shove his breeches and smallclothes down to his thighs.

Byleth shrugged off her coat, draping it over his desk, and seated herself on his lap, ignoring his strangled whimper and pulling off her boots. She slid off her shorts and tights next, slow enough that she could feel the rasp of the lace against her skin, and tossed them beside her coat, her shirt following quickly behind. 

“Don’t touch,” she teased, and his hands snapped back to the armrests like she’d yanked a chain, curling around the wood in a white-knuckled grip.

Seteth’s breath quickened as she set her knees on either side of his thighs, her back to him, and took his cock into her hand. He was half-hard before she even touched him, flushed and tense with anticipation.

“Eager, aren’t you?” she remarked, low and easy, and the way he shivered at her voice sent a bolt of heat through her belly.

She hummed approvingly when he was fully erect, rubbing the tip of his cock against her slick folds. His hips twitched as she slowly lowered herself onto him. He was hot and solid, pressing against her walls in a delicious stretch as she sank down until he had taken him to the root.

She sighed, soft and content, leaning against the broad expanse of Seteth’s chest. He let out a low groan in response, cutting the sound off with a harsh breath as she shifted her weight. 

Her mouth curled into a smile, and she brought her hand to her clit, circling the bud lazily. Her walls clenched down on him, and Seteth suppressed another moan, hands flexing against the armrests. 

Byleth hummed, tapering off into a breathy noise as her fingers quickened their movements. She let her head fall against his shoulder, warmth pooling rich and languid in her belly as she worked herself towards her climax.

Seteth exhaled shakily, ducking his head to mouth a desperate kiss against the line of her neck, muffling a whimper against her skin. 

Taking pity, Byleth took his hands in her own, bringing them up to cup the curve of her breast. 

He held her breasts in his palms, gentle at first, then rougher, calluses catching on her delicate skin. He tweaked the rosy buds of her nipples, his breath hot and steamy against her neck. 

“Close,” she panted, returning her fingers to her clit. She could feel how tense Seteth was beneath her, coiled tight with restraint as he resisted the urge to thrust up into her. 

She came with a trembling gasp, back arching. Her walls clamped down on his cock, and he sucked in a sharp breath, baring his teeth against her shoulder. 

“Byleth,” he choked out, hands smoothing down her ribs and gripping her hips.

She went slack, slumping bonelessly against him. His cock was still hot and full inside her, twitching impatiently. “Mm,” she murmured. “One more, I think.”

He whined, high and keening. 

She huffed a soft laugh and guided one of his hands back up to her breast. “Go on,” she said, relaxing. She reached back to cup his cheek. “A little more, and I’ll let you have yours.”

His other hand drifted down to the slick mess between her thighs, slow tentative, and she spread her legs encouragingly. 

Shakily, he began to move, kneading at her breast and rubbing her clit with something approaching desperation. He was rougher than he usually was, jerky and uncoordinated, but it drove her towards the edge all the same.

Her second climax came quick and easy, and she shuddered through it with a sigh. 

“Good,” she praised, warm and sated. “Go ahead—“

She lifted up the barest inch and Seteth snapped his hips up to meet hers, moaning raggedly. Byleth’s hands gripped his thighs, shivering with the intensity.

He sucked a dark bruise on her shoulder, teeth grazing her skin as he rammed into her, forceful enough that she bounced with each jolt of his hips. 

He nearly snarled as he came, fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her flush. His hips stuttered and she pressed back against him, working him through his climax until he was entirely worn, gasping out barely audible prayers as she ground down on his spent cock.

When his moans turned into harsh whimpers and he was trembling with the sensation she slowed, settling back in his lap as she soaked up his warmth.

“Are you not going to move?” Seteth mumbled, voice slurred with exhaustion, although he didn’t sound particularly bothered. 

She hummed. “I don’t think I will,” she said. “I find myself to be rather comfortable here.”

He huffed, trailing a line of soft, reverent kisses down her neck, lapping at the deep marks he had left on her skin. “Perhaps,” he said, “it wouldn’t be too troublesome if we were to stay here a bit longer.”


	16. Day 16: Power Difference (Felix/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry everyone, i was busy recovering from no-nut november. i do intend on finishing this series...! eventually

When Felix had defeated Byleth for the first time, by the skin of his teeth, after those five years of war and long before his confession, he had thought it would be the first step in his improvement—that he as he grew stronger, he would prove himself to be a worthy opponent. He didn’t think that it would be the first and only time he defeated her.

Except she beat him soundly, over and over again.

It was another such bout, Felix gritting his teeth and using every trick in his repertoire as Byleth danced around him, fluid and graceful and _lethal_.

He lashed out and she ducked under his blade, and suddenly he was the one on the defensive, backing up and blocking desperately as she launched a flurry of blows.

He stumbled, cursing, his swordhand faltering for just a moment, and suddenly her blade was at his throat, delicately tilting his chin up.

“I win,” she said simply.

He swallowed. “Again,” he demanded.

She huffed, but obliged him, withdrawing her sword and sliding back into a ready stance.

“No,” he said. “No weapons.” He dropped his sword to the ground and brought his fists up.

There was a familiar gleam in her eyes, and she mirrored him, her blade clattering to the ground.

Felix, impatient as ever, struck first, a short jab to her throat, and she blocked it with a forearm, retaliating with a punch of her own.

They traded blows, ducking and weaving between strikes, never landing anything more than a glancing cuff. Felix grit his teeth, knuckles bruising and muscles aching, even as Byleth flit across the grounds like a weightless thing. 

He lunged at her, aiming to pin her in grapple, and she twisted to the side, catching his forearm as he passed and throwing him to the ground.

She was on him in the next second, straddling his hips and pinning him down, and he strained against her grasp, growling with the effort. She overpowered him easily, the muscled line of her shoulders barely tensed.

She smiled, more bared teeth than anything, and pressed a bruising kiss to his mouth, hard and vicious. He snarled into her mouth, kissing back just as fiercely.

Her teeth nicked his bottom lip and he gasped, and she took his momentary distraction to release her grip on one of his wrists, undoing the buttons of his collar. She bit a line down the newly-exposed skin, sharp enough to leave reddened marks on his throat.

He moaned, going limp and pliant beneath her, and Byleth let out a tiny huff of amusement.

“So docile,” she murmured, and in any other situation he would’ve had a biting comment to retaliate with.

“_More_,” he demanded instead, his free hand digging into the curve of her thigh.

She tutted, shoving her knee between his legs, and he choked on a moan, hips bucking.

“I won,” she said. “Behave.”

“You always win,” he muttered, but even those words lacked his usual bite.

She hummed, amused, as she yanked his shirt open, buttons scattering across the ground, and shoved his trousers down his thighs as far as they would go, caught in his boots as they were.

She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, her calloused hand rough and impatient, and he hissed through his teeth, letting his head fall back.

She shifted down his body, using her knee to coax his legs wider, and he let out a low groan, hips bucking into her grip.

Byleth cocked her head, quickening her pace, hand slicked by the precum that leaked from his slit, before ducking down to catch a pink nipple in his teeth.

Felix snarled, back arching, but she pushed him down easily with a hand against his narrow waist.

“Stay still,” she murmured against his skin, pressing her thumb against the sweet spot just under the head of his cock.

He bit down on a moan but froze, tense like a bow pulled to snapping.

She made a low, approving noise, lapping at the reddened, swollen bud as she slowly worked him over with her hand.

He twitched, cock throbbing, legs straining against the makeshift bindings of his boot-caught breeches.

Byleth lifted her head, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “Good boy,” she said, too gentle to be teasing

He made a quiet, pathetic noise, half a moan, half a whine, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Her hand quickened, slicked by his precum, and she murmured low praise into his ear, and Felix trembled in response, breathing ragged and uneven as he gasped against her collar.

“Go ahead,” she crooned. “Cum—”

He sank his teeth into her shoulder to muffle the cry that welled in his chest, shuddering as he came. She worked him through it patiently, not so much as wincing even as he bit deep enough to draw blood.

“Good boy,” she praised again, stroking the mess of his hair with her free hand. “Very good.”

Slowly, he loosened his jaw as he came down from his high, panting shallowly. “‘M not your student anymore,” he said, too tired to sound sour, and pressed an apologetic kiss to the broken skin. Byleth could make him come as many times as she pleased, but he was too proud to ever truly admit how her praise made him felt.

She smiled placidly. “Then you should be good enough to beat me.”

He scowled at her, head dropping down onto the dirt as he caught his breath.

A shift of movement made him look up again up, and he froze.

Byleth was languidly lapping at her hand, licking up the white streaks of his cum from her palm.

Felix made an odd, strangled noise.

Byleth looked far too pleased with herself.


	17. Day 17: Domestic/Begging (Seteth/Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating kinktober in -checks calender- april? sounds about right

Byleth woke to the scent of sizzling ham. Seteth’s side of the bed was still faintly warm. sheets rumpled. She slipped out of bed, padding softly to the kitchen.

Seteth was cooking, hair tucked behind his pointed ears and a pale gray apron tied around his waist. There were little white fish embroidered around the hem. _Adorable_.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said, shuffling up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, going on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw. “Good morning, love.”

“Ah—good morning,” he said. “I—I didn’t expect you to be up yet. I was hoping to bring this to you.”

She grinned. “You spoil me,” she said, mouthing another kiss along the line of his jaw, trailing to nip at his ear.

Seteth flinched, skin burning hot under her lips. “The—the food,” he stammered, hands flexing against the counter.

“Your arms are free,” she replied mildly, fingers sneaking underneath his apron to hover just above his waistband.

Seteth shivered, biting his lip as she dragged her teeth over the shell of his ear.

She idly thumbed the edge of his breeches, tugging his tucked shirt free and slipping her hands under to lay flat against the warm skin.

“Well?” she murmured. “The food will burn.”

Seteth exhaled sharply, wrenching his hands from the counter to hesitantly grab the cooking spoon.

He managed to half-heartedly push the slices of meat around in the pan. She watched him cook for a few moments, absentmindedly lapping the sliver of exposed skin above his collar.

She pulled at the laces of his breeches, fingers following the thatches of dark hair down his navel. Seteth let out a low moan, abandoning the attempt altogether and shoving the pan off of the stove and shakily killing the fire.

Byleth smirked against his shoulder, sneaking her hand into his breeches and wrapping her fingers around him. She barely touched him, stroking featherlight. He was almost scaldingly hot, skin smooth against the rough edges of her callouses.

“Byleth—plea—!” He cut himself off before he got the word out entirely, teeth gritted hard enough she was sure that his jaw must have hurt with it.

“What’s wrong?” she teased, slowly pumping her hand. She circled the tender spot below the head on the upstroke, and his knees nearly buckled. “Don’t you remember your manners?”

Seteth exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut. “I—I refuse to promote such behavior,” he managed, “by giving what you want.”

Her eyebrows rose. “A challenge?”

He huffed a laugh, but the breath trailed off into a groan. “...If you’d like.”

The corners of her mouth quirked, giving the tip of his ear one final, loving bite before she withdrew her hand and spun him around, sinking down to her knees.

She tucked the skirt of the apron around the tie to keep it out of the way, then pulled his breeches to his calves. She paused, then, tugging the hem of his underclothes as if debating what to do with them.

Seteth bit his tongue, breath stuttering, and Byleth glanced up at him.

“Mm,” she said, smoothing her hands down his thighs, “maybe not.”

She watched him bite down the whine building in his throat, and the corners of her mouth quirked as she ducked to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the line where the cloth of his smallclothes met skin.

Her teeth dragged against the soft flesh of his inner thighs, leaving reddened marks where she paused to nip at the skin.

With nothing better to do—he wouldn’t _dare_ try to manhandle her— one Seteth’s hands found their way back onto the countertop, gripping the edge until his knuckles blanched under the pressure, the other fisted in his hair.

She smiled against him, groping full curve his ass, and gently, gently, circled the clothed line of his shaft with her teeth.

He made a sharp, desperate sound, something ragged enough that was like it had to be ripped out of him, pupils blown wide and flushed down to his collar.

She held him in her teeth for a few moments longer, until he was fully trembling and it looked like his legs might buckle, and she released his cock, rasping her tongue over the linen of his smalls, and she would have looked apologetic if it weren’t for the self-satisfied tilt of her mouth.

Seteth cracked.

“Please,” he choked. “_Please_, Byleth—please touch me.”

She laughed softly. “Good,” she said. “All you had to do was ask.”

She unceremoniously yanked down the waistband of underclothes, haste over grace, and ran her tongue over her teeth as his cock sprung free, a drop of precum beading at the tip.

She lapped at the head, let his cock slip into her mouth. Her teeth grazed the crown, Seteth’s strangled moan sending heat to pool in her belly.

“Please, please—” he chanted, mindless, almost, eyes half-glazed, fixated on where his cock disappeared past her lips.

She bobbed her head slowly, taking a little more of his length with each rise and fall. A burst of satisfaction rose in her chest as she swallowed him to the hilt— compounded by the shuddering whine that escaped him.

She hummed around him. He was burning hot in her mouth, in her throat, the bitter taste of precum thick against her tongue.

She dug her fingers into the firm round of his ass, hard enough to bruise, holding him flush against her. Her eyes flickered up to meet his and she swallowed, slow, deliberate, hollowing her cheeks.

Seteth came with a long, high cry, spilling down her throat, hips trembling and hair in disarray.

She pulled off him with an obscene sound, and he sank to the floor gracelessly, panting for breath.

Byleth swiped her tongue over her mouth, his release thick in her throat. It was bitter, faintly metallic. Not entirely unpalatable, she thought, glancing at her husband—especially with the view it included.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said primly, then promptly ducked under the spoon that came flying her way.


End file.
